The Mirror
by Israel144
Summary: While brooding in the darkness, the Phantom is visited by a very unlikely person. This is set after the events of the musical. Rated teen for reference to suicide.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.

**The Mirror**

Night. My only reprieve, my one true love, my last form of safety from the animals that live in the so-called "civilized" world. They will never understand my genius, my passion, my life. They will never understand me as long as I continue to remain the ghost, the spirit, the phantom of the opera.

In this hollowed out shell that was once one of the finest opera houses in Paris, behind the white porcelain façade that I am cursed to wear until my dying day, surrounded by the mirrors that are given the rare privilege of looking upon my marred, imperfect identity, I looked out of the high gothic windows, down onto the streets below. The children, free and innocent, played games and walked with their parents to their first ever opera at the new Opera de Paris. How I longed for that innocence, for that freedom. But, alas, this angel of music is no more than a demon of fate's construction, doomed to live my days under the once grand stage, within the stone walls of my own personal Hell. I watched the people, feeling safe in their comforts of luxury and wealth, completely ignorant of the fact that a demon was staring at them, longing to be like them.

_Why do they hate me?_

_Because they do not know you._

_Why don't they try to know me?_

_Because they hate you._

_Who are you?_

_I am you._

_You are me?_

Turning around, I saw nothing, except for the thick blackness that filled the entire room almost suffocating me. And then…there it was. A single beam of pale moon light caught the corner of my eye. I turned towards the source of the ghostly aura and began to walk toward it as if in a trance. When I had reached my destination, I discovered that it was not the source of the lunar beam but merely a reflection, a mirror to be precise. It was one of my many mirrors, but this one was different. It was different. It was the one that she and I shared. It was the one that showed me the true meaning of love and the true meaning of heartbreak, of pain, of despair.

"Christine," the whisper was so soft that I was unsure if I had even uttered it.

"You miss her, don't you," that voice, it was familiar and yet so terribly beautiful that I thought it impossible for me to have ever heart it. I looked in the direction of the mirror, from where the voice had come, but all I saw was myself, cloaked in black, my mask glimmering in the moonlight. But for some reason, that I could not quite understand, my mirror self seemed…almost…different. I reached one pale, cold hand out to touch the glassy surface. The mirror was warm. It was warm, as if life were in it. And then I noticed it. My mirror self was not mirroring my actions. He was standing there hands at his side staring at me.

"Who are you?" I asked as I wrenched my hand away from the warm glass.

The perfect, crisp reply came back to me through the mirror, "As I said before, I am you."

"You can't be me. I am me."

"I am the part of you which you have always feared to embrace. I am the part of you that was left in the memories of her. I am the part of you that was cast out with those memories and replaced with your selfish fear of not being loved. I am that which you used to be. I am Erik."

I trembled at the mention of m birth name, my real name, the name I cast off when she left with the fool. The fool and the scoundrel. He stole her from me. He stole my life and my reason for being.

Tears of rage began to skew my vision. I could feel my anger boiling through my body. My hands balled themselves into fists. I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. All I could do was stand there and hate my very existence.

"Christine," I finally seethed, "how could you leave me for that traitor, that insolent waste of charm and wealth? I could have made you immortal. I could have made you love me. I could have been your angel of music."

"Listen to yourself." I snapped my glare to my almost forgotten mirror self.

"What did you say?" I asked still seething with rage.

"All you think about is yourself. 'How could you leave _me,_' '_I _could have made you love _me._' You're pathetic. How can you expect to be loved if you refuse to love any more? Only fools know better than love, but the wise are those who succumb to the great perplexing mystery."

"You speak to me as if I was the one who left _her_, betrayed her. I was the victim not the culprit. Now, leave me be. Let me die in the peace of my own prison, away from the world that shunned me and cast me into the most forgotten oblivion."

"Your selfish pride and hate are what destroy you, not the world. If you continue down this path, it will not only be the world that forgets you, but soon you too will forget yourself."

I looked back at the mirror, and what I saw shocked me. My…no his…no our mask was off. The moonlight illuminated every detail of my scarred complexion. Every contour, every scar, every boil, blister, and blemish could be seen in the finest of detail. Reaching my hand up to my own face, I felt the cold surface of my porcelain mask. It was smooth, not a trace of imperfection. It was seamless. It was for all intensive purposes…normal.

"You hide yourself in the shadows under the cover of obscurity," he continued. "You hide what makes you unique, what makes you special, what she loved. You call yourself the phantom, a ghost, but you are barely even these things. For a ghost, at least, is a unique spirit that makes itself known to the very world that fears it. You, you however, fear being connected with anything but the very darkness that you were sired in. Your spirit has fled, and you have become one with this oblivion. You are nothing."

"Why are you telling me these things. Is this punishment for the iniquities of my wretched life? Or do you only wish to cause me misery and pain for your own sick enjoyment?" Tears were in my eyes at this point.

"I am not trying to destroy you. I am trying to help you."

"Help me? Help me? You deceive me. You are only an image concocted from the inner-workings of my own perverted mind," the tears came, but I couldn't stop them, no matter how hard I tried.

"I have nothing to live for anymore. There is nothing stopping me from ending my miserable existence," I took the knife that I kept concealed in my cloak, "May this unholy dagger that has spilt the blood of others before me offer the sweet comfort of dark death. May my blood spill at my feet and curse those who dare step on this desecrated ground. May the dark red drops pulse from my still beating heart so that I may bathe this unblemished porcelain disguise with the crimes committed by the identity it hides. Then all will know and see me, and never again will I be cast into the forgotten realms of myth and lore," cold sweat now covered me from head to toe but as for him…he was laughing, enjoying my endless torture.

"You do not have the ability to end your own life. You fear death just as you do life. You fear that you will be connected with that which is unknown to you in death. You fear that you will lose the last thing on this earth that you care about: yourself."

In desperation, I fell to my knees and bowed my head to the large mirror, sobbing, "I give up. I am a broken soul. What is it that you seek of me? What do you ask of me?"

"The only thing I ask of you is to let go. Let go of your pain and your misery. Let go of your memories. Let go of your hate. Let go of her."

"You ask of me the impossible. I will never let her go. I will always miss her. I will always love and hate her."

"You dig your own grave."

"Then so be it. I've grown accustomed to this life, and if this is where I choose to die then this is where I will die. Now leave me and never reveal yourself to me again."

"Very well. I shall leave you and never return. However, before I leave, let me reiterate that you are a fool." With that, he vanished, leaving behind my normal reflection, still cloaked in darkness wearing my emotionless mask. All was quiet. All was still. Slowly, cautiously, I stood from where I had been kneeling and looked around the dark room. The pale beam of moonlight was still coming from the window that I had been looking out of. Slowly, cautiously, I stepped up to the transparent glass and looked down onto the streets of Paris. A demon chained in Hell, envying the animals that infest the Earth.

Fin


End file.
